


Chains and Shackles

by CeralyV



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Civil War, Gen, Historical, Historical Reenactment, mentions/brief appearances of other characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:44:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeralyV/pseuds/CeralyV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The American Civil War lasted from April 12, 1861 to its conclusion on May 10, 1865. But what the people of the land saw as an intranational conflict, the young personification Alfred F. Jones saw as four years of hell from the inside out. This is the retelling of the Civil War, from start to finish, with Alfred waging war against his inner demons. Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

###  **Prologue**

"That looks like it hurts, son."

Alfred looked up past the bloodied handkerchief still pressed against the left side of his forehead. Trying not to look like he was in too much pain, the blond gave the inquiring man the best smile he could manage. "It's nothing, sir. Just got on the wrong side of a cane belonging to a very angry politician."

The man however looked unconvinced. "Son, politicians don't go waving around waving canes like mad men without reason. If you tell me what happened, maybe I can get you some help."

Help. There was a funny word, Alfred mused. To think there was a time when he could write to Francis and ask for backup, or ask Arthur for a hand. It seemed like centuries had passed from the times when it was perfectly normal for the American to take a trip up to Montreal and ask for Mathew's advice on political issues.

Help? Help was too far gone. He had to deal with this one on his own.

"Yeah well..." Alfred started, removing the cloth from his wound and examining the once white material. "Things got out of hand real quick. At least now I know what I'm bringing into a fight- canes hurt like a bitch."

The man raised an eyebrow at the young man's comment. "While I will elect to ignore the previous profane remark, I must ask again: what happened?"

Alfred gestured to the end of the road, "Have you heard about what happened in Senate a few days ago?"

"I've been in Illinois up until today, I'm afraid."

"Well, you know Sumner? Senator from Massachusetts, against slavery and all that crap? Well, he made a pretty intense speech at the last session, pissed off just about every Southerner in the room." Alfred refrained from chuckling at this part. Seward had jabbed him in the side when the blue-eyed teen had started snickering when Sumner compared the conflict in Kansas to the harassment a virgin.

"Anyway," he continued, "South Carolina guy, Brooks I think his name is. Well he got it into his head that it would be a good idea to confront Sumner about the speech, right? It was totally ok and all, but then he pulled out his cane and started beating Sumner with it!"

This of course shocked the man, who was now sitting beside Alfred on the bench he had found for himself. "He beat Sumner?"

"Oh yeah, and he wouldn't stop even when the guy was unconscious." Alfred allowed himself to scowl at the memory. "Thing is, some of the other Senators tried to get Brooks off of the poor guy but Keitt, his buddy or whatever, pulled out a goddamn gun on everybody! I mean, who does that?"

"What happened then?" The man asked next, now focused on every word the teen spoke.

"Well, I walked in around then and got around Keitt, he was kinda distracted by the other guys in the room. I tried to get Brooks to stop or take the cane, but he ended up whacking me right here." Alfred pointed to the dried up blood on on his head. "My brother always said I had a thick skull, I guess that's what he meant when Brooks' cane broke right after."

The man frowned, taking in the information that he was just told. Soon, he spoke up again. "I trust that Sumner was taken to a doctor?"

Alfred scoffed, as if the answer was obvious. "Heck yeah. The guy had the nerve to ask me if _I_ needed help- me! Like I was the one bleeding on the floor half-dead! But it's ok, Sumner's gunna be fine. The doctor told me so."

Leaning back on the bench, the man adjusted his suit. Deep in thought, apparently. "Slavery becomes more of a problem with each passing day, it seems. But to think that violence would find its way into a place of democracy? This is truly a sad thought..."

"You're telling me." Alfred agreed, mimicking the man's posture and looking up at the evening sky. In all honesty, Alfred shouldn't have been surprised that a fight broke out among the Senators. In fact, he should have been anticipating it. It seemed like everyday now the northern and southern Senators looked about ready to bite each others' heads off. Brooks was just the brave one to do it first.

Not only that, Alfred thought, but the press was going to get ahold of this faster than anyone could imagine. A South Carolina Senator beats another from Massachusetts with his cane after a heated speech criticizing and ridiculing everything the South stood for? They would go nuts! The North of course would go into an uproar, and they'd probably demand that Brooks be jailed for his crimes. The South was predicable; they'd probably call Brooks a hero, no doubt. As much as Alfred was all for acts of heroism and justice, this somehow felt wrong to him. Like Brooks had gone too far.

"-your name?"

Alfred snapped out of his thoughts in time to hear the last few words of the man's question. "Huh?"

"I said, thank you for telling me about this. I wouldn't have wanted to hear some overly dramatized version that the press loves to feed the people, so thank you. I also asked for you name, if you wouldn't mind." The man said politely, extending his hand.

Alfred gladly took it, shaking it firmly and did not take notice to the fact that he still had blood on his hand. "Anytime. My name's Alfred; Alfred F. Jones."

The man nodded in understanding. "Abraham. Abraham Lincoln."

"Kinda a mouthful isn't it? Don't you have a nickname or something?" Alfred asked, deciding that Abraham just did not roll off the tongue very easily.

Abraham let out a small almost inaudible snort. "Well, I think you'll be content at just calling me Mr. Lincoln for now. I confess I never liked the name 'Abe' much in my youth."

Alfred let out a laugh and decided he liked this guy. Definitely wasn't the type to beat around the bush. "Well, ok Mr. Lincoln. You said you were from Illinois right? Whatcha doin' over here in D.C.?"

"I returned to law after some rather unsavory work in the capital some years ago. I have a client in the city, which is why I came back." Abraham explained, recalling his time among the chaos that was Congress. "I regret that I left under such unfavorable resentment towards Mr. Taylor, but it was unwise to stay in the capital after loosing my aspired position to some old fossil. I only come back under my new work and nothing more."

Alfred listened, and about halfway through Abraham's explanation, a light went off in the blond's head. It had been some time ago, and Alfred had almost forgotten about the almost unknown politician from the House. But when he thought about it, the name Lincoln did sound familiar. Then it hit him- Abraham was the once infamous 'Spotty Lincoln'. He remembered the day when Polk had come back to the White House, hollering on about some schmuck in the House how dared attack his powers as President.

The youth hadn't thought much of it at the time, and it was a miracle Alfred had remembered it at all. Perhaps it was the name, or how Alfred had thought it was hilarious at the time. That would mean that the 'old fossil' Abraham was talking about was Old Man Justin.

"Aw come on, Butterfield wasn't _that_ bad. Ok, so he was kinda old but he was alright when you caught him on a good day!" Alfred argued, even though he was sure Abraham had a point.

The latter was about to formulate his response before a realization struck him. "Wait just a moment, you knew Mr. Butterfield? And on that note, how were you allowed in Senate? Forgive me, but you don't look much older than twenty."

Alfred cursed at himself for letting his casual banter set in with a complete stranger. He was starting to slip, just like Pierce had said he would if he allowed himself to get too comfortable around civilians. Guess Chinny was right after all.

"My dad worked for Congress for a while, that's how I got to meet a lot of the higher ups." Alfred lied, drawing out his well rehearsed story. "And I started working as a janitor for the floor about a year ago when I turned eighteen."

Much to Alfred's relief, Abraham seemed to accept his story and sat looked up at the now darker sky. A moment of silence passed before the lawyer spoke again. "Then tell me Mr. Jones, how do you feel about the slavery debate? Many boys by your age have some opinions when it comes to politics."

Boy, there was a tough question. As the personification of every man, woman, and child on his land, Alfred couldn't just pick a side without acknowledging the other. The nightmares were getting worse however, and every time he awoke the same voice would whisper into his ear: _'Are you really ready to sacrifice everything you've worked for just for some slaves?'_

The meetings in Congress weren't helping Alfred's worries at all. They only served to contribute to them, as it was becoming more evident with each day that this debate had to end somewhere. But he was beginning to genuinely fear what the 'end' actually entailed.

Scrunching up his nose in either intense focus or confusion, Alfred thought long and hard about Abraham's question. While it was true that he was supposed to represent every one of his people, including those in the South, if he was being completely honest with himself...

"I think," Alfred began, his voice betraying his doubt ridden thoughts, "I think that whatever happens, I just really hope no one's left with the short end of the stick. As much as I don't think the slavery thing is right, I don't want everything to go to hell because of it."

And as Abraham nodded in quiet acceptance of the boy's answer, Alfred should have noticed this was the first red flag in a series of events that would change everything. For even as the two men sat quietly in the streets of Washington D.C., the young nation should have realized that when a personification starts disagreeing with the other half of their people, things could only go downhill from there.

_ Historical Explanation (In the order of which they appear): _

_1\. The Caning of Senator Charles Sumner was a very real event that occurred on May 22, 1856 between Senators Charles Sumner and Preston Brooks. Two days before his attack, Sumner delivered a very controversial speech to Congress about the Bleeding Kansas incident and the border ruffians from Missouri- comparing their goal of converting Kansas to a slave state was the equivalent to raping a virgin and thereby giving birth to a new slave state. Naturally, every Southerner in the room was appalled by this comparison and just as equally insulted. South Carolina's Senator Preston Brooks decided to take action two days later, and confronted Sumner along with his colleague, fellow Senator Laurence Keitt. When he finally approached Sumner, he said a few words to him before taking his cane and began repeatedly hitting Sumner over the head with it. Keitt kept other Senators who attempted to remove Brooks by pulling out his pistol; the beating only stopped once Brooks' cane actually broke._

_2.a. Abraham Lincoln actually made a name for himself in the years before his presidential campaign- and was a member of Congress for some time before he left. During President James Polk's term, Congressman Lincoln was opposed to the Mexican-American War and was a main advocate against it. When Polk insisted that American blood had been spilt on American soil, Lincoln challenged him and asked the President to show them the exact spot where the blood was to prove his point. Lincoln lost a lot of support after his failed stance against Polk and earned the name 'Spotty Lincoln' in Illinois._

_2.b. When Polk's term drew to a close, and realizing Clay was an unlikely victor, Lincoln showed support for candidate Zachary Taylor. While Lincoln had hoped that he might be appointed Commissioner of General Land Office after Taylor's victory, but the position was given to his rival, Justin Butterfield, instead. When offered a consolation prize for his contributions, Lincoln rejected them as they interfered with his reputation in Illinois. Soon after, he left office and returned to law practice in Springfield._


	2. The Difference in Men

**Chapter 1: The Difference in Men**

###### 

_Politics have no relation to morals. -Niccolò Machiavelli_

###### 

_Washington, D.C., June 4, 1860_

There was an almost immeasurable number of times Alfred desperately wished he did not have to endure the tug-of-war that was politics. These were also the times when Alfred wondered why he hadn't lost any hair out of pure frustration with his government. Everyday now something was said that ended in a verbal brawl between parties, and insults and crude jabs certainly weren't absent from the affairs.

As much as Alfred loved to watch a good battle of opinions, it was getting old. Very old.

Memories of Arthur's constant irritation with his parliament and king now seemed disturbingly relatable. The pity now was that the Brit could not share in the young nation's suffering; a blessing and a curse depending on how one chose to look at it.

Alfred picked his head up from the wooden table he had become acquainted with, only to groan in his boredom for the umpteenth time that morning.

"Mr. Seward, you have the stage."

"Thank you, sir. As you all know, my fellow party member Mr. Lincoln has been chosen as the Republican candidate for the coming election period-"

A collective huff and not-so quiet murmuring could be heard from the Southern Senators.

"And I have come address my campaign in the West for his support and his stance on the abolition movement." Seward finished, blatantly ignoring the sounds of disapproval he received on behalf of Lincoln.

Alfred could only roll his eyes, as he had heard from Buchanan about the campaign long before the announcement. The blond had never been fond of attending Senate during election season, as year after year it proved to be more troublesome than the last. It seemed as though there was no rhyme or reason to the entire spectacle; what with a room filled with aged men arguing over their candidates for hours on end. Sure, they would mask the true discussion under talk of current issues, but in the end it would always lead to one nasty comment that set the room off.

And he was starting to bet with Breckinridge over how long each session would last until order was demolished yet again.

As his thoughts trailed to said bet, Alfred turned to his Vice President, who seemed engrossed in the current debate. "Hey Johnny, what's that guy's name over there? Funny beard? Looks mad? Sitting on the Southern side?"

Breckinridge, not at all a stranger to his nation's commentary and odd questions, answered with an almost bored tone. "If you are speaking of Alabama's Senator, that is Mr. Clement Clay. And if I remember correctly, Mr. Buchanan informed you to remember the names of-"

"Clay huh? Well I think he might be the one that makes or breaks this bet." Alfred interrupted, leaning forward to get a better look at the man in question. It was clear as day that the man was not amused in the slightest with the current discussion between Seward and another Senator, and he looked moments away from snapping. "He looks pretty riled up. Doesn't look like he has a cane on him, though."

The Vice President allowed himself a brief glance at Clay, and found himself agreeing with Jones. "Mr. Clay has good reasons. Mr. Seward was never one to bring tact into his opinions, and quite frankly he ought to. He insults the people of the south without any consideration for their stance."

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were looking forward to Clay starting a fight." Alfred mumbled, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair. "You know you'll lose the bet if he gets up, right?"

Breckinridge gave a small frown, but still did not make eye contact with the teen. "I have told you several times Mr. Jones, there is no wager to be made. Matters of the state are not a game, especially the subject of abolition." The man gave a pause as Seward answered another question before continuing, "There is no winner in this, boy. Surely in your age you have realized this."

Alfred exhaled, turning his attention back to the open discussion on the floor. In the blond's opinion, Seward seemed to be getting more backlash than was necessary. The man was expressing his moral stance against slavery, a stance that Alfred was more inclined to side with. Of course, it didn't end at his values, as the Senator continued to voice his opposition to a 'southern slave state take over'.

This of course did not sit well with the other half of the room that he was deprecating.

In situations like these, the northern state Senators always had a knack for bringing up personal beliefs and the equality of men that was set in stone within the Declaration. Jefferson would have been proud, Alfred figured.

_"Enough of this!"_

The loud call and the brief silence that followed pulled Alfred out of his inner musing and brought his focus back to the floor. There, just as predicted, Senator Clay stood from his seat, with all eyes fixed on his person.

"Mr. Clay, you must wait until Mr. Seward has finished with his-"

"I will not sit here and allow a man from New York dictate how a man from Alabama runs his life! He knows nothing of what it means to be a Southern gentleman, and he continues to insist that his way is the correct one!" 

Seward looked offended at this insinuation. "Now see here Mr. Clay-!"

"No, _you_ will see here, Mr. Seward!" The bearded Senator snapped at his opponent, adamant on having his voice heard.

Clay turned to his fellow Senators, and began his speech before he could be interrupted once more. "I ask of every man in this room to listen not to this man for once, and think about the greater whole. Mr. Seward had brought up on several occasions that the act of enslaving negroes is not only an act of moral defiance, but a direct insult to the very words in the Declaration of Mr. Thomas Jefferson. But I say this, have you no idea what this trade's purpose was in the first place?"

The room was silent, with only withered looks being passed between his audience. Even Alfred did not speak a word until Clay continued, "My fellow Senators will agree that slavery, no matter the moral stance, is an essential part of our social and economic structure. While you men in New York and Massachusetts talk of abolition in an area of merchants, you have no comprehension of what abolition will do to the states that _depend on it!_

"I do not speak on behalf of Jefferson's words or its interpretation, but I do speak on behalf of the people of Alabama that know that this is a system that is our life force. You would be willing to kill the southern social structure and economy, for what? To save your feeble consciouses? Poppycock! Western expansion is not out of spite, but out of necessity! Answer me this _Mr. Seward_ ," Clay allowed a pause after his hiss of the Senator's name, "Are you and your associates really ready to sacrifice everything this nation has worked for just for slaves?"

Not a single man spoke up, not even Seward as he stood staring down at Clay. Even the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room seemed hesitant to break the fragile silence of the room. Alfred found it difficult to breathe as the final words of Clay began to mirror the voice in his nightmares, and took no notice as Breckinridge nodded slightly at the speech's conclusion.

It seemed as though several hours had passed before Seward cleared his throat. Although in reality it may have only been a few seconds; no one could be quite sure. "Well then, Mr. Clay. It would seem as though you are spectacularly ignorant in not only the rights of men, but also in the adjustment for the times. Tell me, are your farmers so unaccustomed to labor that they would send a Senator to Washington to make a inadequate excuse to defend an outdated and incredibly preposterous perspective?"

Alfred would later recall that the chaos that erupted then after was nothing short of deafening.

###### 

_'Mr. Sandwich, you don't think my government is a failure, do you?'_

_'No way! You and everyone worked super hard on it, remember?'_

_'Yeah, but nobody gets along anymore. George always told us that parties would totally ruin everything- do you think he was right?'_

_'Georgie wasn't living in 1860! You gotta trust in your people, they always work things out. Remember when you were convinced you were gunna die back in 1814?_

_'Yeah but that was different.'_

_'Not as much as you think!'_

"Jones?"

_'What do you mean?'_

_'I mean that even when you thought things couldn't get any worse, you always pull through in the end! Remember what you told Arthur when you were younger? That you were gunna be somebody big! Gunna be the greatest country ever! You can't give up when the going gets tough!_

_'You're right, Mr. Sandwich!'_

"Jones!"

_'I know I'm right! You just have to believe in yourself and those loonies in Congress! Watch, when this is all over, you'll think it was silly to worry so much!'_

_'Totally! Gosh I'm hungry... You don't mind if I eat you, right?'_

_'It's ok Alfred, I've done my part. Now you go out there and kick some ass!'_

_'Mr. Sandwich, you're the only one who understands me-'_  


"JONES PAY ATTENTION."

Alfred stopped mid-bite of his sandwich and looked up to meet the menacing glare of his President. The man looked like he had not slept in at least the past two days, at it was taking its toll on his mood and appearance. Sometimes the teen felt bad for his weathered out leader; the decline of his career and term was certainly hitting him hard.

Finishing his bite and swallowing the piece without chewing, Alfred remembered he was supposed to be discussing something important after the fiasco in Senate finally ended. "What's that Jimmy?"

Buchanan could only sigh in surrender and rested his head upon his hand. "Jones I beg of you, do try to make these last few months of my term easier on me. The least you could do is give me your attention when I ask."

"Sorry Jimmy, I just didn't eat today." Alfred explained, holding up his sandwich. "You should totally marry your secretary, just a note. She makes the best lunches in Virginia! Plus, they give moral support when you're feeling down!"

"Jones, I don't actually think your meal has the ability to communicate with you..."

"'Course they do! You're just not listening because you're too busy being grumpy all the time! What ever happened to the days when you got enough sleep and weren't trying to avoid all your problems?"

"I could say the same thing about you, Alfred."

An awkward silence followed, with the young nation turning his attention back to his neglected sandwich and Buchanan turning his his eyes back to the documents littering his desk. Both men not entirely sure what to say next.

A moment passed before Alfred finished his lunch and Buchanan looked lover most of the proposed bills. The later was the first to speak, "Jones, you cannot lie to me and say things are alright in that funny little head of yours. I know we once could communicate on a similar level, but these times have gone and will not return. I recommend that you seek out the candidates, speak with them, and try to find the one you approve of. It is your duty as the United States to represent your people the best you can- a job I am no longer qualified to assist you in."

The blue-eyed nation didn't respond, whether it be out of remorse or contemplation, Buchanan could not be sure. Regardless, he decided to continue. "One of these men will be your new leader, and help you in ways that you need right now." The president lay down his pen on his desk, rising out of his seat. "There is something more dire you need to think about; something besides missed sleep and overbearing Senate sessions."  


Alfred looked at him, his eyes curious and confused. Buchanan was trying to tell him something. Something that was more serious than his sandwich or any plans for the recess; but what could it be?

The president recognized the personification's confusion and took a seat beside him, his gaze fixed on the plate of crumbs that once held Alfred's sandwich. "I'm not really supposed to discuss this with people outside the convention, but I feel as though I must to something to redeem what remains of my credibility. But you must promise not to utter a word of this until it is made public by the people involved. Until then, you must do what you can to prepare, as I can no longer hope to do so myself."

"Jimmy... what's going on?" Alfred breathed, not confident that he would like the answer he may receive.

"Jones, there has been quiet talk amongst the Southern representatives from both House and Senate. It has not been made official of course, but it is highly suggested that if the Republican candidate Mr. Lincoln is victorious in this coming election that the southern half of the country will secede. They simply see themselves too different from their brothers in the North, it would seem."

Alfred would have choked had he anything in his mouth. Instead, he was left with a cold chill running through his heart as the news began to process. "Secede? They can't actually do that right? I mean... the Federalists talked about it way back when, but that's all it is- just talk! They can't really mean that... Right?"

A sigh left Buchanan's lips as he furrowed his eyebrows. "Nothing can be said for sure, this being the one comfort and plague upon my mind. It was why I asked you to come here immediately after your session, because you need to be prepared for whatever may happen. And you must find the correct candidate for this reason. Do you understand Jones? Because the man you chose will either be what plummets the people in a international crisis or another four years of bought time to prolong the inevitable."

The chill was getting worse as the gravity of the situation began to dawn upon the teen. Secession was dangerous- it could mean war. What was the right thing to do? Who would he be going to war against? The whispers in his dreams that demanded the expansion of slavery? 

"Jones." Buchanan spoke up once more, looking at his nation with a calculating yet pitied expression. "Have you... already felt the pull of a new nation? _Anything_ that may suggest that a southern secession may come to pass?"

_Yes._

"No." Alfred lied, shaking his head. "Just bad dreams and old men who can't agree on anything."

_Historical Explanation (in the order in which they appear):_

_1\. During the Republican Convention of 1860, Abraham Lincoln was chosen to the Republican candidate for presidency. William H. Seward was an outspoken advocate against slavery and a self-proclaimed enemy of the Slave Power (or the conspiracy of southern slave owners to seize the government and defeat the powers of liberty). He spoke against the wrongs of slavery on such a frequent basis that he earned the outrage of his Southern Senators and representatives all together- an even remarked that there was a higher law than that of the constitution (in reference to the higher laws of man). Once Lincoln was selected for candidacy, Seward was a loyal supporter and embarked on a speaking tour of the West during the autumn of 1860._

_2\. A major point in the Republican stance against slavery was the idea that it was specifically stated in the Declaration of Independence (written by Thomas Jefferson) that all men ought to be seen as equal. (Ironic, I know)_

_3\. The significance of slavery was not something the South took lightly, as it was a main factor in their labor fields that supported the entire southern economy. Ever since colonial times the South was different than the North in the respect that their life revolved around agriculture and cash crops (ranging from tobacco to cotton), and continued throughout the Revolution and into the founding of America. Slavery was not only a necessity in Southern economy, but was a major part of how the social structure of the southern states worked- and how it had worked for well over a hundred years at the time._

_4\. President James Buchanan served one term in office, and is often regarded by historians as one of the worst presidents in American history. Due to his inability to deal with the warring sides of Congress and the threat of secession, he lost popularity at an alarming rate and barely left office with any sort of approval. (In fact, he was often blamed for the American Civil War and his failure to prevent it- earning the war its nickname, "Buchanan's War". He was no stranger to death threats and vicious letters even after his leave of office, and was filled with regret later in life)_

_5\. The threat of Southern Secession was a pressing issue within the government- as it was made known that if Lincoln won the election, the southern states would have no choice but to secede. Spoiler: Lincoln won and the south secedes. People get mad. Southern people really don't like Lincoln. They blow up a fort because they really don't like the north. War starts. *End Spoiler*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Important: Because this is a Civil War story, there will be an interpretation of the representative of Confederate State of America_


	3. False Fronts

**Chapter 2: False Fronts**

###### 

_Risk is trying to control something you are powerless over. -Eric Clapton_

###### 

_Walking down the hallways with the creaking wood beneath his feet, Alfred laughed softly to himself. It never seemed to matter what house he found himself occupying- the floor boards would always creek. The sound was practically a signature of the places he called home. Even when he wasn't quite as tall and even the smallest of Arthur's shirts fit him like dresses, the young colony could always make the wooden flooring make that old sound. It always made games of hiding with his brother unfair, he remarked with amusement. Arthur always knew where he was._

_Standing above a particularly weak piece of hardwood, Alfred rocked his weight back and forth, producing more of the pressured sound. Sometimes he could tell what house he was in immediately depending on the sounds of the flooring. Adams had scolded him on retaining such useless information when the teen should have been focused on the impending trade agreements with Francis._

_The supposedly 'useless' information, however, proved incredibly useful when Alfred was trying to figure out which house he was in during his dreams._

_For instance, Alfred was almost positive this was his old home in Virginia. The floorboard that he currently was testing was the weakest part of the flooring located in the west side of the house. As a child, it had been easy to memorize the sturdiness of the new ground- determining which boards produced the most sound, and which ones produced none at all._

_"Wonder why England never got it fixed..." Alfred wondered out loud, looking down at the almost insignificant boards._

_"It was because he never had time for nothing besides his work."_

_Alfred stopped his movement, his eyes still fixed on his feet. It was back. The voice he could never see. The person it belonged to gone before Alfred could get a look at him._

_The Voice, as the blond had dubbed it, was male with a southern lisp from what he had been able to gather. Most of the time, it would only affect the grammar of the sentences he was trying to convey. Other times it sounded as though the Voice had stepped straight off a carriage from Mississippi; the accent almost foreign and incomprehensible to most ears._

_But if there was one thing that Alfred knew for sure about the Voice, it was that it had something out for him._

_Prepared for his next encounter with the entity that had been haunting his dreams for the past few months, the teen did not turn to face the source of the Voice. Instead, he forced his attention to the end of the hallway to the door leading to Arthur's former study, determined to not repeat his mistakes. "Guess so, huh? Think he would have if I told him it started popping up in my dreams?"_

_When he received no answer, Alfred panicked, afraid that he had lost the Voice again. "How come you're never there when I turn around?"_

_There was a strange pause, time altered so that the nation could not determine how long he had been waiting before he heard the answer. "'Cus you never look in the right places."_

_"Right places?" Alfred asked, confusion written on his expression. "I don't get it. You're always right behind me, but when I turn around no one's there. Why? I'm starting to think you're just me- like my subconscious or whatever."_

_Another silence followed, and the blond sighed in defeat. Soon he would wake up, his question never answered and more questions would be mushrooming where there should have been answers. It was becoming something like a goose-chase. Sooner or later it would become routine until Alfred was able to figure out what the hell was going on, and the end seemed like miles off-_

_An all too familiar creek sounded behind him, bringing the young man's musings to a terrifying halt._

_There was no time to think, no time to react as a warm breath caught his ear and the now dangerously close Voice whispered in his ear- the warmth of another's presence far too real. "Mudsill, when this is all said and done, you're gunna be wishin' for the days when I was jist a voice."_

When Alfred regained hold of his wits, he was sitting upright in his bed, breath labored, skin pale, and sweating as if he had spoken to the devil himself.

###### 

_Springfield, Illinois, August 23, 1860_

As much as it pained him to be wrong, Ms. Evans was right. Alfred looked like a dead man walking, and it could hardly be blamed on the uncomfortable suit he was being forced to wear. The nation was unable to fall back to sleep after his nightmare, and was only able to after the sun decided to rise from the eastern horizon. 

When his housemaid had come to collect her employer and send him downstairs for breakfast, the poor woman was given quite the fright when she was greeted by the sight of the teen sprawled on the floor along with his sheets. His eyes bloodshot and prominent bags hanging below them, the maid concluded that Alfred had barely slept a wink, and had suggested that he cancel his meeting for today.

Alfred of course was completely against this.

The two had continued to argue while breakfast was served; Ms. Evans worried about the boy's health and the aforementioned was too stubborn to admit that he was anything other than perfectly alright. Even as the blond was getting dressed in his after his meal, his maid urged him to reconsider from the other side of his bedroom door.

"Mr. Jones, please answer me at least this: what is so important that you feel the need to go out when you are clearly unwell?" she had asked to the door, arms crossed in frustration.

"Hildie I told you, I have a letter to Mr. Lincoln that they needed me to deliver! Super important government business, remember?" The muffled reply came, his voice clouded by the shirt over his head and the door separating the two parties.

While this was in no way a lie, the older woman was not pleased with his excuse. "I'm sure Mr. Lincoln wouldn't mind the absence of company for once. You know how that man is- always in his home; never going out for campaigns; he's practically a recluse! Surely you can send some delivery boy in your place? The man wouldn't care either way and the letter would be delivered!"

The door then opened suddenly, Alfred standing in the doorway with his suit on but his tie disarray. "It's kinda complicated. I just have to be the one who delivers it. I mean, who wouldn't want to meet me?"

Thus, after another hour of making the teen look at least half-way presentable, Alfred found himself walking up the pathway to the now infamous Springfield home of the Republican presidential candidate. All the while cursing the fact that Ms. Evans was probably correct in her suggestion that he stay home.

Even after three hours since 'waking up', Alfred knew he didn't look too great. When he looked into the mirror earlier there was no missing the lack of color in his features and the obvious fatigue that seemed to radiate off of him. He had even fallen asleep during the carriage ride to the house, and had to be awoken by the rather awkward driver. The short nap he had taken had destroyed what little neatness had been preserved in his hair, now leaving his blond locks sticking out in odd angles.

In short, he looked like he just woke up.

Skipping another step and playing with the letter in his hands, Alfred hoped the man would not remember the youth from their brief encounter in Washington. Buchanan warned if he did, that the meeting should be cut short to avoid any unnecessary suspicion concerning Alfred's true identity.

Honestly, it was a miracle that the personification was let out in pubic at all with that sort of attitude governing his life.

Allowing the issue to exit his thoughts temporary, Alfred caught the final step to the front door. The house was not lavish by the area's standards, and the red door and large green windows proved to be the only remarkable features about the building. Had it not been for the man who lived inside, the beige house would not have been anything anyone would have looked twice at.

But while it was not incredibly large or extravagant, the nation could tell it was a home.

Knocking three times, Alfred smiled at the large red door, allowing his cheerful demeanor to cover any exhaustion he may have still felt. After all, he was being given not only the opportunity to meet his possible future president, but also visit his home and (hopefully) meet his family while he was there.

So, as soon as the door opened, the teen had barely a thought before he greeted his unknown welcomer. "Hello! I'm A-"

"Excuse me, I don't remember Mr. Lincoln saying he had made any appointments with the press today."

Startled at the interruption, Alfred looked down at the woman standing in the doorway. She was not old per say; well into her years, early forties at worst, and held an air of maturity about her. Her dark brown hair tied into a neat bun, exposing her rounded face and sharp expression. However, the most notable feature about his 'welcomer' was the unexpected glare and obvious annoyance being thrown in the teen's direction. 

He realized he had to say something quick. "Actually I'm-"

"Pardon? From a different newspaper you say? Believe me young man, I have heard a many excuses to try and trick me into letting people like you into this house without any sort of notification. Either you send a telegram or letter in advance, and _then_ you may be given an arranged interview time. You can tell that to your colleagues back in Washington or wherever you came from!" The woman snapped at him, gripping her dress with tight fists.

Alfred took a step back, raising his hands in surrender if only to cut the rant short before he lost his chance to explain the situation. "I'm very sorry Ma'am, but-"

"Sorry! I will accept an apology once you get your raggedy hind off of my property!" She cut yet again, taking a step towards the man clearly twice her size.

Contrary to what would be told later, Alfred most certainly did _not_ take a step away from her. That would have meant that he was intimidated by her- and nations did _not_ get intimidated by their own citizens. Instead, he remained firmly in his spot and kept his hands raised while he tried to negotiate in a way that did not end in his ass being kicked into the Atlantic. "Ma'am, I swear I'm not a scout for a newspaper or anything! I have a letter for Mr. Lincoln!"

Thankfully, this caught the rampaging woman's attention and she stopped in her advance. "A letter?"

"Yeah! It's from Mr. Haycraft- they sent me to deliver it!" Alfred exclaimed, holding up the folded envelope for further proof of his innocence. 

Eyeing the nation with an air of suspicion, she snatched the letter from the blond's hand, looking over it a few times over. Alfred anxiously waited for her answer, and was thankfully not kept waiting long in the warm August air for too long. 

"... Very well. I believe you." she finally said, turning back into the house while continuing to inspect the letter for some unknown reason. At first, Alfred wasn't sure as to what he should do as he stood at the doorway, but not a few seconds later the woman called to him from across the hall. "That means you can come in, boy!"

The teen did not need to be told a second time as he hurried inside and closed the door behind him. 

Hanging up his jacket on the nearby racket, Alfred allowed his curiosity to get the better of him and took a quick look at the other rooms from the main hallway. There was the expected entertainment room for guests, along with smaller living areas. From where he stood, the nation could not see the kitchen or any other rooms, but assumed that if he ventured further down one of the branching hallways he would find plenty of other spaces. He was also confident that if he were to take the flight of stairs not too far from where he stood, he would find bedrooms and perhaps a study like Arthur had once had in their second home in New York.

Adjusting his collar, he wondered if there were any children in the home. If there were, all the usual sounds that accompanied the sound of family life were absent. The only thing left in their stead was the faint smell of wood and books, along with the footsteps of the now calm woman ahead of him.

"I feel as though I must apologize for my assumptions earlier. You see, my husband has been very busy lately running his campaign from his office. He does not have the time like he used to; visitors had to be kept to a manageable level to restore some inkling of organization in this household." She spoke up, gesturing for her guest to follow. 

Tagging not two steps behind her, Alfred nodded in agreement before it dawned upon him what she had just implied before that. "Wait, you're his wife?"

The now realized 'Mrs. Lincoln' huffed in aggravation at the boy's ignorance. "Who did you _think_ I was? Honestly, men these days grow more foolish by the generation."

Having the decency to blush in embarrassment, Alfred scratched his head as he continued. "A-anyway! So that means you're Miss Mary Lincoln right?"

"That's _Mary Ann Todd_ Lincoln, to you. I _did_ have a name before I met my husband, you know. My existence wasn't just suddenly given purpose when I met the man. I am a woman with a life and a history too." she pointed out, turning the corner to another hallway.

Turning an even deeper shade of red, Alfred sputtered at his mistake. "I'm awfully sorry Miss Mary-"

"Oh, you're never sorry until after I berate you on such mistakes, are you? I suppose I should expect this by now." She paused to sigh. "Hopefully there may be a day when ladies are not defined by the men they marry."

Leaving the dumbstruck teen in her wake, Mary turned to a closed door and knocked twice. "Abraham, you have a letter for you. From Mr. Haycraft he says."

The rustling of papers and a familiar voice could be heard from within the closed room. "Send him in."

With a swift turn of the doorknob, Mary opened the door and all but shoved Alfred inside, earning her a yelp of surprise from the latter. She looked over to the the figure sitting at his desk and announced,"I'll show the young man out when you two are finished." before closing the door behind her.

Staring at the now closed door for a moment, Alfred took a look around the obvious office space. The room was cluttered with papers and books, and for a moment it felt like he was intruding in on a library; it certainly smelled like one. His attention turned to the hunched over man sitting at his desk across the room, currently engrossed in a book. If he turned his head, Alfred could almost be sure that it was a law book of sorts.

The politician, taking off his reading glasses and scratching his beard, lifted his head and greeted his visitor with a smile. "Hello my boy. I hope my wife-" he stopped short, squinting slightly before rising from his chair, a shocked expression clearly written upon his face.

_Please don't remember me. Please don't remember me. Please don't remember me._

"Jones?" Lincoln's question broke the silence, as the man took a few steps around his desk. "You're Mr. Alfred Jones, are you not?"

_Shit._

"Uh... Am I? Huh, that's weird." Alfred blurt out, his brain evidently deciding it would fail him when he needed it most.

The candidate blinked and took a few steps closer, his attention far from the letter that was to be delivered to him. "Then you _are_ Jones! We met in Washington some years ago, do you not remember? You were the young man who informed me of the caning of Mr. Sumner, as I recall."

"Um... Well uh... I think?" Alfred tried, putting on his most innocent looking face. "I mean, everybody told everybody when it happened, so I don't know if I told you! I told anybody who would listen! I even told a stray cat!"

"Jones, I remember that night as clear as what I had for breakfast this morning. I know it was you, and that I informed you of my name before we parted ways."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Lincoln!"

"Jones, I have been a politician for years and a father of many children. I like to believe I have become very good at telling when people are lying to me."

"What! I'm not lying! I swear on my great-grandfather's grave!"

"... You're making a habit of it."

"Making a habit of what?"

"Looking everywhere but myself. My youngest son has the same quirk. He refuses to look his mother in the eye when he has gotten himself into trouble and does not wish to be caught, just as you are doing right now."

"I am not!"

"Then I ask that you meet my eyes and tell me that we have not met before."

"You cannot be serious!"

"Surely if you have nothing to hide this will be of no trouble to you."  
"I thought I was here because the letter!"

"Humor me."

A stalemate was reached between the two parties, as both knew there were only a limited number of ways the conversation had yet to go. Alfred took a deep breath and looked the bearded man in the eye, opening his mouth to deny all claims against him.

And then he shut his mouth.

And then he took another breath and opened his mouth once more.

Before shutting it again.

At this point, Lincoln had an amused smile on his face, his eyebrow raised in contemplation. "Well?"

"I'm getting there, hold on!" Alfred retorted, wondering why it was so hard to look the man in the eye and complete his well prepared lie. It had not been the first time he had to lie to his government officials about his identity, in fact he had done it several times over. Washington had thus far been the only president who had known before his election, as it was rather difficult to lie to a man who had been your brother-in-arms for the better part of ten years. 

Sometimes he really wished being a personification was a bit easier.

"Well, when you feel that you are ready I will be awaiting your answer. While I wait, would you mind terribly if I read that letter you mentioned earlier?" Lincoln queried, holding his hand out.

"The letter? Oh yeah, sure." Alfred responded absent-mindedly, handing him the letter before returning to his thoughts.

While the country pondered his position and the best possible story to give the Republican, said man returned to his desk to read the contents of the message that was delivered to him. The two stayed like this for what could only be assumed was the next half hour, both men engrossed in their current task at hand. At some point, Lincoln had finished reading his note, and pulled out a piece of spare paper in preparation for a response. Soon, the soft scratch of pen on paper could be the only thing heard in the study, save for the occasional mumbling from Alfred. 

From his corner of the space, the host suppressed a smile to the best of his abilities. However curious it was that Jones would deny all connections to himself, Lincoln was amused by the failed attempt to do so. _He is undoubtedly a strange boy,_ he thought to himself as he searched for a spare envelope. _But there is something different about him. Something he is hiding in plain sight._

What would later be confirmed to be 42 minutes and 18 seconds since the blond's arrival into the office, the silence was finally broken by the more likely of the two. "I've got it!" Alfred exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as if he had solved a very complicated puzzle. "It was a dream!"

The politician had been halfway through sealing his response letter when he was spoken to and lifted his head with a look of sarcastic inquiry. "A dream, you say?"

"Yes! You dreamed that you met someone like me, so you think you met me- but you really just heard my name somewhere and took a wild guess. Am I right?" Alfred questioned, as if he were not the one trying to convince the other of his story.

Lincoln had a inquisitive look upon his face before turning his attention back to his letter. "A very likely scenario, Jones. It is surely what transpired." he folded the paper in his hands once more, "While we are on the subject of sleep, I find the act eluding me as of late. Have you had much success?"

Still delighted that his explanation had been accepted, Alfred allowed his answer to come out with a single thought to his facade. "Sleep? Please, I'm lucky if I get more than a few hours a week with all those stupid nightmares!"

With the envelope sealed, the senior of the put away his pen with a composed indifference. "Nightmares?"

"Yeah, my maid's been on my back for ages now. Says I need to take it easy with the politics for once. Jimmy's been sending people to check on me every once in a while, but with everything going to hell and the election in November I just can't relax as much as I used to, you know?" Alfred prattled, recognizing that his weariness was taking a tole on his energy.

"I'm sure that every man upon this land is worried for the days to come in politics. It is not healthy to fret over an uncontrollable future, you must remember this Jones. I cannot say the situation of this nation will improve from this day forward, but I _can_ promise you that what will transpire was meant to happen." Lincoln insisted, his eyes fixed on the teen's troubled expression.

"I guess, but-" Alfred began, before he was interrupted by a hand resting on his shoulder. Not even noticing he had lowered it, he raised his head and met the troubled gaze of the man he hadn't even heard rise from his seat and make his way across the room.

Giving the youth's shoulder a soft squeeze, the once lawyer gave a soft look of understanding that Alfred had not seen in centuries. "There are many things that not even the highest of men can prevent. If I become the president of this country, no matter the risk it possesses, I do not wish to be remembered as a man who did not do what he believed was right. Nor would I wish any man to suffer from the opposition between what is right, and what is better for the whole.

"Alfred Jones, there are moments when man must decide what he is willing to choose- equality or order. Whatever choice he may make must not be out of what he thinks will please others, but what he feels is right in his own heart."

If Lincoln took notice of the way Alfred's eyes looked far too old for a boy of his age, he said nothing as he placed the response letter into the latter's hands. There was a heavy stillness to the room as blue eyes searched brown for a solution to a silent fear, an unspoken message being relayed to the other.

It was the taller of the two to break the moment, as he gestured to the door with a smile before turning back to his desk and the nearly forgotten book he had been reading earlier. "But priorities ought to be sorted out first. Go get some rest my boy; tomorrow will wait until you are ready to face it."

Alfred spoke only a few words to Mary as he was escorted out of the home, vaguely remembering bidding the lady a good day before making his way back to the carriage that awaited him outside. 

To say Alfred's mind was silent would be a lie, but to say it was cluttered would not be the truth. It was as if long lost conviction that had once made the nation who he was was returning to him; each bump in the road on his way back to his home bringing new light upon the situation.

Perhaps he could not do what was best, but he _could_ do what was right. And hadn't that been the way it always had been?

It was at the intersection of East Adams and Cressey Street that America laughed a shaky yet relieved chortle; the last time anyone would hear the sound for years to come.

_Historical Explanation (in the order in which they appear):_

_1\. The term 'mudsill' is actually an outdated name that Southerners used to use for Northerners during the time of the Civil War. While they were known to use the word 'Yankee' quite commonly as their main derogatory name for the people from the North, the name 'mudsill' was among this various nicknames developed among the South; 'mudsill' being the equivalent of a lowlife._

_2\. Mini Story: As I was selecting a date for the meeting to take place between Alfred and Lincoln, I chose the date August 23rd for no other reason than the fact that I was lacking inspiration at the beginning and selected my mother's birthday as a place holder. However, as I conducted research on the date (August 23, 1860), imagine my surprise when I discovered something actually occurred on that date! Here it is: on August 23, 1860 Lincoln wrote a reassurance letter to a Mr. Samuel Haycraft in response to the implication that Lincoln was too afraid to travel to Kentucky to campaign due to the threat of violence- which Lincoln denied in his letter._

_3\. Mary Ann Todd Lincoln was the first and only wife of Abraham Lincoln and would have his four children during her lifetime. The youngest at the time, William Wallace Lincoln, was mentioned briefly by Lincoln during the meeting. Now, Mary Ann Todd Lincoln was nothing like the women of her time, as she was known to be not only ill-tempered, but high-strung, assertive, mercurial, and overall badass. Of course, she loved her children dearly and cared for her husband more than anyone else; it just didn't always show under the slew of not-so tact remarks she had a hard time keeping under control._

_4\. If you wish to have more info on the Caning of Charles Sumner, I direct you to the prologue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Important: Because this is a Civil War story, there will be an interpretation of the representative of Confederate State of America_


	4. What The Crowd Wants

**Chapter 3: What the Crowd Wants**

###### 

_How often it is that the angry man rages denial of what his inner self is telling him. -Frank Herbert_

###### 

It had been a little more than three weeks since Alfred's meeting with the Illinois politician. The election season's approaching end was finally in sight. While the actual election day would not be until early November, the cool air of September brought promises of a conclusion to the tensions in government. The Republicans seemed satisfied with Lincoln's work and stance in the coming election, and were even more so elated with the Democratic party's predicament.

The Democratic party had fallen into a snag, namely the split in their party. Illinois's infamous Stephen Douglas had fallen prey to series of poor decisions and choices during his political life and presidential campaign. Thus, even with his long history of driving Republican candidate Lincoln mad with their debates, had lost most all his support throughout the country. Not even the northern half of the country came to the man's rescue, as both southerns and northerners had come to detest the man and his weak stance.

Of course, Mr. Douglas was a Democrat and the face of the party- an obvious mistake that many would have been glad to take back.

Now, Alfred's very own Vice President, Breckinridge, held the so called 'Southern Democrat' name into battle for presidency. A clearly more capable and ideal man to represent what the South was asking for, the Kentucky politician seemed to be the one who would give Mr. Lincoln a run for his money.

Then again, the young nation understood this, as he had played witness to the entire spectacle as it had unraveled over the past year. In all honesty, the blond would have been more entertained in meeting Mr. John Bell and listening to his prattle than endure another meeting with the far too tense Democratic representatives.

Unfortunately, life was hardly ever fair for man, and perhaps even less so for nations.

"-ones? Jones? Are you listening?"

"Huh?"

"My God, man! Mr. Buchanan did mention from time to time that you had habit of dozing off, but _this_ is a bit absurd." Douglas huffed, leaning back in his chair and wearing a prominent scowl on his face.

Usually, Alfred was much better at controlling his fatigue and asserting his utmost focus, (when he deemed necessary, naturally) but his meeting with Douglas seemed to be testing his abilities to an extreme. Every part of his body screamed at this mind to grant just a mere five minutes of rest, and he had a feeling it had everything to do with the people's displeasure with the man sitting across from him. Even when the teen had been forced to sit through lunch with Breckinridge last Sunday, part of him at least wanted to remain awake to hear what the man had to say. However, he could not help but feel a bit of scorn radiating off of his once agreeable vice president. Whether it be from the man's personal stress of resentment toward's Alfred's northern way of thinking, he could not be sure.

But there, in the far too stuffy room with ill-made whiskey and repetitive conversation, Alfred would have given anything to go home and forget all about the torture he was being forced into.

"Sorry Mr. Douglas... What were you talking about?" the teen asked, boredom seeping through his words.

The Democrat did not comment on the tone used against him, but instead took a sip of his own glass of Jim Bean. There was a brief pause, though Alfred took no notice, before the politician spoke up again. "I can see that you're taking very little interest in the current discussion, if your dozing is anything to go by."

_Well duh._ "Sorry Mr. Douglas." the blond repeated, for what felt like the millionth time that day. "I'll pay attention this time, honest-"

"There's no need. I was a fool to think that the country would be willing to listen to me after the muck I've made of my career." Douglas interrupted, glaring down at his glass. "Sometimes I need to remind myself that you're not just a man, but the people; and I've fallen out of their favor."

Alfred perked up at the mention of his position, sitting upright in his seat. Finally, they were getting somewhere. "Well... I think Missouri still likes you a little."

"'Think'? I remember the days when you could tell me exactly what the southern states were feeling." Douglas replied, pouring himself another shot. "You've met with Mr. Lincoln, yes?"

This earned the candidate a confused look from his nation. Why bring up his opponent? Surely Alfred wouldn't have to sit through another passive-aggressive remark about the Republican. "Yeah, why do ya ask, sir?"

"I can see plain as day how the North favors him so. If all goes according to his plan, it is unfortunately very likely that that abolitionist will become president within the next few months." Douglas commented, taking a sip of his whiskey. "That man truly is what they want."

Somehow, something within Alfred possessed him to press further. "I get that you don't like him. But he seems to know what he's doing, you know? He's not here to tell the south to bite it, he's trying to help."

He didn't miss how Douglas let out a bitter laugh at his statement, putting the nation even further on edge. The man simply shook his head, as if listening to the ravings of a child. "You sound a little more like a Northerner each day, my good sir." He leaned forward in his seat, looking directly into the other's blue eyes. The latter again noted, with an unknown feeling stirring in his stomach, that the man's own brown eyes lacked the kindness that he found in Lincoln's. "Mr. Jones, may I ask you something?"

"I get the feeling that you're gunna ask anyway no matter what I say..." Alfred answered, becoming weary of the impending question.

Douglas shrugged. "A common courtesy. Regardless, I must ask if you are prepared for the worst if it comes."

An almost affronted look crossed the teen's face in response. "What are you talking about? The southern secession won't happen- Breckinridge won't do that and Lincoln won't _let_ it happen."

A dark look grew on the politicians features, making Alfred unsure of his answer. He took a moment, as if studying to see if the boy's answer was genuine, before speaking again. "Alfred Jones, tell me you at least realize that secession could mean. This will not be simply a matter of political struggle anymore; if the South truly secedes, than a civil war could break out."

This was the first time anyone had mentioned the idea of military conflict to Alfred, at least out loud. A pregnant silence fell between the two, as a silent fear had been voiced aloud- almost to the point where its mention was taboo. No one in Congress had spoken on the floor about the idea of a war between the southern and the northern states; not even Breckinridge or Lincoln. Instead, speculations and rumors bloomed behind closed doors, in the streets with civilians, and in the quiet states of denial in America's mind.

The idea of civil war, while very possible, was impossible to fathom to the teen. "There won't be a war. If the South does leave, then we'll just... leave them."

"You sound doubtful. Am I wrong?"

Another pause.

"There are many northerners who would disagree with your last statement. Many who see the necessity in having the South. Who see that, if I may quote Mr. Lincoln, that 'A house divided against itself cannot stand'."

Alfred bit his lip, his mind turning with the possibilities and outcomes of the next year. "Then we'll get them back. Plain and simple. We've put down rebellions tons of times before, why is this one different?"

"Because this is not some little trouble with corn farmers, Mr. Jones. We are talking about a war with guns and armies. A conflict that will cost hundreds of lives. You've already seen what's happened with Kansas, what's to say that this isn't only the beginning?" Douglas countered, his expression hard and his eyes ice.

Alfred swallowed, taking a moment to contemplate his options yet again. He had been doing this more often as of late, even after his discussion with Lincoln. He had once been so sure of his conviction, that everything would be alright if he did his best. But with every meeting with Buchanan, and every missed night of sleep, his doubts were once again creeping in. "Lin- I didn't say that things would be great all of a sudden, it takes time and-"

"Jones. When will you stop spitting out Mr. Lincoln's words as you own out of fear, when we both know that's not what's really happening?" Douglas cut in, aggravation setting into his voice.

The blond stood at this, rising from his chair and knocking over the coffee table separating the two men in the process. Douglas had touched a nerve. "I'm not saying anything I don't think, so stop treating me like I don't have a mind of my own! I'm saying that because he's right! The Republicans are right- you can't just let popular sovereignty and states' rights destroy everything! Order and the boundaries for slavery were here for a reason, so _why doesn't the South get that?"_

The tension in the room could not be measured, as the now severely vexed nation stood his ground against the annoyingly calm senator. Did he not realize that his unreadable expression was pissing Alfred off even further? If anything, his lack of response was the equivalent of a middle finger to the riled up teen.

Then, when the blond was a mere second away from yelling and demanding a response, Douglas took his final sip from his shot glass, tearing his gaze away from the blue eyes of his nation and focusing intently on the melted ice before him. "Perhaps I'll dignify that with a proper retort if you can tell me what the other half of yourself thinks of this? You talk so large of the Northern view, but tell me, how does the plantation owner in Georgia feel? What does the half of the country that you've begun to neglect think?"

Stephen may has well have punched him. Alfred certainly felt that way, as he teeth gritted against each other in barely contained rage. What made him impossibly more exasperated with the entire situation and himself was his lack of a good answer. For the life of him, he couldn't rack his brain for a suitable defending argument and instead resigned to quiet seething and the urge to punch something.

America didn't have an answer.

###### 

_Washington D.C., September 17, 1860_

Had the atmosphere not been so glum, Alfred may have made some rather unnecessary jokes concerning his and Douglas' height difference. There were an abundance of jokes and comments that were pilling up in the unused section of his mind, where at one point he would make every humorous crack whenever they came to mind- no matter if anyone found them funny. In fact, it had been Alfred's handiwork that lead to the 'Little Giant' dilemma.

Sometimes, when the meetings got boring and the paperwork was a bit much, Alfred would take small pleasure in recalling the week that he had first come up with the name. Douglas of course was not in the slightest bit amused, and had spent the entire work week tracking down the creator of such a juvenile name for himself. Needless to say, Alfred had the giggles throughout every meeting- making every withered yet knowing glare from Jackson worth it.

Now, in the dull and rainy streets of D.C. with said 'Little Giant' walking ahead of him, Alfred had a hard time finding it funny anymore.

"Where are we going again?" He asked, deciding to break the ice that had begun to form since they left Douglas's living room.

"You agreed to accompany me to a exchange between Mr. John Brown's former lawyer and myself. You do remember Mr. Brown, I hope?" The man answered, never once breaking his stride across the pavement.

This was, without doubt, a rhetorical question. There wasn't a man, woman, or child who was ignorant to the situation that once surrounded the infamous John Brown. He was the face of the abolition movement in the north; revered by the North as a man of justice, and nothing short of evil in the South. It was his mad ravings that lead to the mass murder of southerners and uprisings of slaves all over- Congress had practically lost what little hair they had over the incident, as Alfred recalled.

Despite the mixed feelings on the man, there was without question that every last one of his citizens could associate one word with the now deceased 'terrorist'.

Crazy.

Now, what _type_ of crazy was where the split of opinions occurred.

Taking off Texas and wiping them clean with the cuff of his shirt, the teen looked ahead at the senator's back. "Course I do. But I don't get why you're going to talk to his lawyer. Congress already did their investigation, remember? Big press free-for-all, riots in the streets, blacks running free; was a pretty big deal actually."

"I wanted to see if he managed to keep some of Mr. Brown's final works before the government decided to steal it." Was the curt answer, his mention of the government practically dripping in malice.

"Well geez Mr. Douglas, it's kinda their job to investigate acts of treason." Alfred huffed, "The stuff he wrote was evidence, so they took them probably."

Had the nation been standing in front of him, he wouldn't have missed the way the shorter man's eyes rolled in agitation. "When did you start being the government's advocate? When I first met you, you didn't give a hat over government and thought it better that we simply work everything out over duels."

"Hey, Andrew solved lots of problems through duels! Fighting over a civil suit? Duel them!" Alfred hollered, drawing the attention of confused onlookers. "Someone talking bad about your wife? Duel them! Someone talking bad about _you_? Duel them! Dueling really solves everything if you think about it!"

"...I think it's time we changed the subject of this conversation." Douglas deadpanned, practically convinced he was loosing brain capacity the more he listened to nonsense about shooting guns.

"It does! I talked to Joseph about it too, and he agreed with me." Alfred insisted, confident in his stance.

Douglas looked over his shoulder and glared at the teen trailing behind him. "And when exactly did _you_ speak with Mr. Lane? My running mate does not make appointments without my knowledge."

The instant switch between the confident, fight-filled teen to the embarrassed, caught-red-handed boy was not to be missed. "Uh... Well you know things go! Stop by his house, bring him a bottle of whiskey, ask him for a spare horse and his political stance..."

The Senator pinched the bridge of his nose, the beginnings of a stress-induced migraine beginning to form. "I swear, when I get my hands on that man..."

"Aw come on Mr. Douglas, it's not like I'm a threat to you guys or anything. I'm just here to kick ass, crack jokes, eat sandwiches, and make sure nobody goes nuts and hits somebody with a cane again." Alfred pointed out. "The guy looked like he needed a drink and break anyway."

The Kentucky politician found he could not properly counter that statement. After all, he himself looked forward to even the slightest bit of breathing space in times like these. How could he really blame his would-be Vice President for wanting a simple moment to talk to Jones? Even now, when his nerves were rising and patience was being tested, he would take talking to his nation any day over a political brawl with his party or Lincoln.

"Most men do, I find." Douglas finally said, after a few moments of musing. "I'm sure even Mr. Lincoln would be most agreeable to a bottle of his finest right now. It's quite the miracle that he's been able to keep up his act for so long. I find it almost commendable."

Alfred furrowed his eyebrows. "Act?"

Douglas looked at his pocket watch, checking the time nonchalantly. "During our time together on the floor of Congress, I found that Mr. Lincoln has the uncanny ability to remain on his toes at all times. If there is anything the man is gifted with, its his ability to please the people and tell them exactly what they wish to hear. Most politicians can only dream of being so well liked."

"That doesn't mean he's not dishonest! He even gives those stuffy jerks in New York some hope that he can level things out in over here." Alfred defended, irked that they were jumping back to a fight about Lincoln.

"I'm not saying he doesn't. He's actually very good what he does, and I have very little doubt that he will make a fine leader should his victory come." Said Douglas, as if talking about something as simple as the weather. "But I don't believe that he has the power to keep this nation together. For all his abilities to lead, he cannot lead those who do not believe in the same things as those in New York or anywhere else in the North."

"So you think you or Breckinridge can do it?" Alfred queried, curious as to the man's change in opinion about his supposed 'rival'.

"I though _I_ could at some point; a foolish dream of a young politician. Then, when my party stepped on my feet in contempt, I thought perhaps that Mr. Breckinridge was the man that this nation needed." Douglas went on, looking up at the dark, clouded sky. The rain had let up only slightly, and the drizzle only signaled the coming of another storm in the distance. It seemed to be raining more often lately, but no could exactly say why.

"Now, I can't image such a man exists anymore. How could he?"

###### 

The transaction between Douglas and Brown's former attorney went without hitch, save the distant sounds of Alfred's whining. Luckily, the whining was all that had to be dealt with, as the young nation was known to get into mischief (and by extension, trouble) when he grew bored.

Much to the senator's dismay, Brown's former lawyer possessed little documents of his former employer. The government had been extremely thorough in their confiscation; not a single paper that was even remotely related to the man's life pursuit had not been left to question, it seemed. Not that any of the men there could argue with their reasoning- an issue as big as abolitionist terrorists could not be treated lightly in time such as these. If even a small portion of Brown's writings were let loose onto the public and, god forbid, the _press_ , there would be an even bigger mess that the original. Best to keep damages to a minimum then, was the collective thought process, according to the attorney.

So, the inquiring pair left the law offices made their departure into the still drizzling streets. Douglas, obviously disappointed with his lack of results and fatigued from the day's stress, made quick work of his goodbyes to his nation. They shook hands, again out of common curtesy, bid each other a safe trip back to their homes, and the Senator was off on his way.

Turning on his heel and glad that he was once again left to his own devices, Alfred made his way down the walkways, smiling and greeting his citizens should he ever cross their path. Most were in a hurry to escape the rain, as the thunder in the distance was a clear warning that woe would befall any who stayed outdoors.

Decided that he didn't want to hear Ms. Evan's complaining about ruining his clothing for the third time that week, Alfred made haste to the train station. The iron horse was not to be expected in this area for another forty minutes, but the teen was not in the slightest bit surprised to see other men and women hurrying inside the building alongside himself. The building, with its dim lighting and musty air, was not at all a pleasant place to be cooped up in with some two hundred odd merchants and travelers alike. People often brushed, pushed, shoved, and bumped into each other on the gates to the railway, and there were very few who enjoyed the experience of railroad traveling for that reason.

And it wasn't simply the close quarters that deterred people from the process. The less than pleasant conditions often made men more irritable than usual, and it wasn't uncommon for disagreements and brawls to spring up in some of the less monitored parts of the station. For the most part, people were miserable to wait for the train, and it became a well accepted fact that your neighbor was likely not in the best of moods and it was wise to keep interactions brief.

However, Alfred was one of the few breeds that did not feel the misery of the commute. Odder still, he found that, with the right company, the wait could actually be quite enjoyable.

Luckily, he was able to spot such company in the far corners of the stone building. Better still, they seemed to have sandwiches and were making jokes to each other as if the people around them didn't exist. Exactly the kind of merriment the blond was craving.

He wasted no time in running over to the group of young boys, not far from Alfred's physical age. "Hey guys, miss me?"

The trio, looking up from their game of cards and their cigarettes for a moment, caught the eyes of the teen standing before them and instantly jumped up in glee. The tallest, and closest to Alfred, quickly brought the latter into a hug. "Jones! Vhere have you been? Ze gamez of poke have been stale vizout you!"

Alfred punched him playfully, "It's called 'Poker', you blockhead! You been keeping these criminals in check for me while I was away?"

"Ja. Zough James has been cheatink." The golden blond stated, glaring back at the lanky boy to his right.

Said boy shook his unruly copper curls in protest. "Nu-uh! He's just lookin' to blame me cuz ah got the last butter cake from Miss Browne on the train last Munday!"

"It vas clearly mine!" The taller teen hollered back in annoyance.

The copper-headed teen merely wrinkled his freckled nose. "Ah didn't see yo' _name_ on it!"

Turning his attention to the bickering hotheads, Alfred shot a beaming grin to the youngest of the group who had yet to speak. "Browne made her butter cakes again? Did you save me any?"

The short, dark-haired boy shook his head. "Course not. You really think I could save you a crumb from these crazies? Poor Miss Browne didn't stand a chance when they found her with food."

"Aw damn. I love those cakes!" Alfred groaned, slumping next to the crates that the group was using for chairs. "Did she says when she was gunna come back up north for her husband?"

"Negative. She said she's staying in Georgia with her sister for a while. Says she can't be making trips up here anymore." The teen sighed in resignation.

"That's terrible!" Alfred exclaimed, his face the picture of distraught.

"Yeah, you know how much she hates her sister! Poor lady's going to loose her wits-"

"Not that! _The cakes!_ How on earth am I going to survive without her butter cakes?!"

"Maybe zey vould have lasted _longer_ if James did not hog zem all!"

"Aw, lay off mah case Phil! If you weren't goin' off flirtin' with them girls in the other car you could've kept them! Findas keepas!"

"Fellas, can't we go back to the game? People are starting to stare.."

_"Oh god, the cakes."_

Unsurprisingly, it took a complete ten minutes for the fighting to break up and an additional five minutes to get everyone back on a normal basis. Which, by their standards, was considerably good given their past conflicts and never-ending arguments between two specific members.

As Alfred went about dealing a new set of cards due to his arrival, he quickly glanced at each teen. They changed in slight ways every time they met, and he wondered briefly if they would start growing beards soon. The 'oldest' of the group was Phillip Zeigler, the tall German teen practically fresh off the boat. His English was more than sufficient for work purposes, and he was on the train traveling to and fro from his job in the outskirts of the capital. Phillip was hardly shy, as one would think of an immigrant, and was by far one of the most sociable of the group (only second to Alfred himself).

Finished his dealing to 'Phil', Alfred turned his attention to the huffing ginger to his front. James Carey, with his ever-present cigarette in hand, was bound to the train in both body and soul. He was one of the unofficial workers on the evening commutes, and had been since he turned thirteen and ran away from his home in Mississippi. James was rash in nature, and came to butt heads with Phillip on more than one occasion- such was the defining feature of their friendship.

Last, but certainly not least, came young Alexander Hamilton, calmly seated at Alfred's right. While sharing the name of Alfred's former politician, he seemed to lack nerve and charisma that the now deceased man had possessed. Instead, 'Alex' was a kind, naive, yet bright young student attending the university in hopes of going into law as per his father's wishes. The seventeen year-old from Maine was usually the mediator of the group, and was the unspoken favorite of Alfred's.

Sometimes, Alfred wondered what sort of luck had to be present for all four of them to meet on the biggest train on the east coast.

"Can ve play anozer game for once? Zis poker game iz not wery fun now." Phillip groaned, taking a drag of his own cigarette and looking down at his cards in hand with piercing blue eyes.

"What's your deal, Phil? You were the one who didn't want to stop playing this ever since you learned about it!" Alfred pointed out, munching on a sandwich that may or may not have been Alex's.

James shook his head and leaned back against the cold wall behind him. "Don' mind him, Jones. He's just hung over what's been goin' on back with the big boys in Washin'ton."

This earned him an another stern look from the German. "It is serious! I hear zey vill be lookink fur soldiers soon. Zat a var vill break out."

Alfred groaned. Could he have no respite from his troubles? "Don't be like that, Phil! Nobody's going to war, so quit your worrying!" He replied, placing two chips forward.

"I don't know, Alfred. My father says that if Mr. Lincoln wins, the southern states are going to leave the union. I'd hate to think about it, but if push comes to shove..." Alex trailed off, staring at his cards, rather disheartened.

"Aw, shut yer traps! I'm tryin' to win this game right here, so if yer all done mopin' around like girls, can y'all just play yer damn cards?" James snapped, glaring at his own hand as if it were the one to speak.

Alex frowned and turned to Alfred, whispering. "Family troubles. He's been more on edge than usual."

"His folks are trying to write to him?" Alfred asked, "I thought they hated him?"

"It's something to do with the way the southern politics are heading lately. I think they want him to head back to the farm." Alex answered, sparing a glance in James's direction. "My mother has been hinting that she wants me to start going to school in Connecticut instead. That I should stay closer to home."

"That sucks," Alfred huffed, "You're not gunna listen to them, right?"

This time, it was Phillip that spoke up. "Alex? Not listen to his mutter und vater? Unheard of."

Alfred shook his head in denial. "No way! With everything that's happening, wouldn't it make more sense to stick together more than ever? One for all and all for one? We can't move apart, because that's what the politicians want!"

"I think you're saying that quote wrong..."

"No, I'm totally saying it right!"

" _Regardless,_ " Phillip cut in, "If ze country is dividet, how vill ve know who vill be draftet? It is a very real issue."

"Nobody getting drafted! There's no war!" Alfred countered, "There has to be a war for there to be a draft, and I don't see no war!"

"If there was, and you were drafted, what would happen if we weren't on the same side?" Alex asked quietly, but somehow spoke volumes.

If the young nation had not been thrown in for a loop over Alex's question, he would have noticed the way Phillip's mouth dropped, his cigarette hanging off the corner of his mouth. He also would have notice the way James's grip on his cards became a bit too hard and how he refused to look at any of the other boys.

But Alfred just placed his cards face down on the playing space in the middle of the group, looking over at Alex all the while. "Nothing like that's ever going to happen. Nobody's getting drafted, nobody's going to war, and nobody's gunna have to shoot the guy next to him. That's crazy and it'll _never_ happen. Got it?"

There was a collective grumble of affirmation as the boys returned their attention back to the game and tried to keep their thoughts on more pleasant subjects. On the second dealing and after a minute or so of the silence that befell the group, Phillip spoke up, almost nonchalantly as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"If ve vere on ozer sides, I'd vant to be on ze ozer side of James. Zen I coult have an excuse to shoot him in ze foot." Phillip stated, not even looking up from his cards in what appeared to be intense concentration.

It took the rest of the time they had remaining until the train arrived to drag James away from Phillip in his fit of rage. It took an additional five minutes to get Phillip and Alfred off the floor and away from their laughing and thus were rewarded with the less that preferable seats on the train.

Fortunately, James brought his harmonica and had learned a song or two to make the trip go by smoothly.

###### 

_Historical Explanation (in the order in which they appear):_

_1\. During the time period prior to the election of 1860, the Democratic party experienced a split between their two candidates Breckinridge and Douglas. It was quite messy actually, as it was clear (and even illustrated in several political cartoons) that the party was doomed to failure. Douglas had outright humiliated himself after a series of bad sidings and choices in his political career, which eventually lead to the split in the Democratic party lead by Breckinridge. This was explained as thorough as needed to understand this aspect of the plot, but if you wish to know more, I encourage you to research the Stephen Douglas's political career. Or you know, take an AP US History class like I did._

_2\. This doesn't have any real significance to the plot, but Douglas briefly referenced the Whiskey Rebellion of 1791 when comparing it to the status of the south's impending rebellion. In short, the 'corn farmers' mentioned were farmers living in the western side of the country who used whiskey as a means of currency. Then, with a new tax on corn being placed, the farmers naturally got very upset and started a rebellion that had to be put down by good old Washington._

_3\. The infamous John Brown was an abolitionist living in the north some years prior to the election of 1860. Claiming that God had spoken to him in a dream, Brown believed it was his life's mission to free slaves by any means necessary. He lead several slave uprisings in the South, killed slave owners, and was by by modern standards a terrorist. However, the North (leaning towards anti-slavery) regarded him as a martyr and hero. The South, of course, thought he was hell-spawn and out of his mind._

_4\. Railways were quite useful when traveling goods and people across the states during this time period and were often used as means to travel between work, home, and school in some cases. They weren't always a very pleasant experience though._

_5\. Poker was first recorded to have been played in New Orleans, Louisiana in 1829 by an English actor who had payed whiteness. It eventually spread across the Mississippi River and became a popular card game to be played across America. By 1860 (the current year of this story), poker is still a relatively new game._

###### 

_Translations_

_German:_

_Ja : Yes_

_Mutter und Vater : Mother and Father ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a while to update this chapter guys. I actually posted it on my fanfiction and totally forgot about updating it over here. Won't happen again though, I swear.


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